


Home: Or in which Meg Masters finds hers

by ofCloudlessClimesandStarrySkies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crowley is a dick, Dean and Meg are sarcastic soulmates, Drabble, F/M, Meg has feelings, Non-Graphic Violence, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 17:14:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4633563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofCloudlessClimesandStarrySkies/pseuds/ofCloudlessClimesandStarrySkies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg hadn't found herself using the word home in a serious context in years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home: Or in which Meg Masters finds hers

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovely humans! This is my first work ever to be posted here, though I'm not new to writing. Constructive comments are appreciated, that said, enjoy :)

Meg hadn't found herself using the word home in serious context in years. Centuries, even. She imagines when she was human she had, but never as a demon. Hell is many things. Learning place, nightmare, sanctuary, Lucifer's dominion. But never home. When she walks the earth in the skin of another, she sinks in to whatever life presented to her. But it is always in third person, as an observer, a puppeteer.  
The closest to constants she has are the damn Winchesters, and her fight against them. Making Sam the boy king, or bringing forth Lucifer, it didn't matter, her cause was always the bane of their existence. Yet somehow...she feels closer to them than she ever has to Azazel. With every insult or threat they throw her way, Meg starts to realize something. They FEEL for her. Be it loathing or anger, they feel real feelings towards her. Sam especially. She's been inside his skin. Read the dark scripture of his mind.  
Maybe that's where she slips up. Somewhere in his hate filled hazel eyes, she starts falling. When she kisses Dean to spite him, all she's thinking is that He could walk in at any moment. When she kisses Clarence, to distract him, to get the blade, all the while she's thinking that He's watching. Calculating every move in this mysterious, predatory state of mind of his.  
She used to want to taint him, make him burn and smoulder, taste the ash in her kiss.  
And still today she wonders what would've happened if he'd succumbed to his original fate. Odd how often she wonders, dreams and imagines. Maybe she's going soft in her old age.  
Still, Meg is a soldier before anything else and she's up for a battle regardless of the sides, so long as she benefits. She tells Dean she needs friends as the leviathans roam the earth in sharp suits waiting to chow down on the whole damn population, and Crowley is after her hide. The spiteful older Winchester is cautious, venomous even towards her and she can't blame him, but maybe deep down there's an understanding between them because he lets her in.  
When he tells her they're going straight for Sam, no detours, she doesn't bother to explain to him she wouldn't want to make detours. Instead she purrs out the most sultry response she can manage, though honestly she's too tired to be that seductive hell bitch she once was.  
As the earthquake in Sam's head consumes him, and her little treetopper agrees to shoulder the burden like Atlas once did for the whole world, Meg watches in horrific fascination. Sam doesn't say two words to her when he wakes, and it hurts more than it should.  
She watches over a delirious Cas for many months and he scrawls childish love poems of her "thorny beauty" on the back of napkins.  
Thorns always hurt, and Meg finds the title uncomfortably close to home.  
When the suicide mission of saving the world comes around yet again, she's ready. Fighting for a cause is all she wants. Dean lets her drive the impala as a distraction and she's deeply flattered in her own way. She purrs a sweet nothing across the rickety cabin to a focused Sam and when not even an eye roll gets thrown back her way, Meg just feels disappointed.  
Dick Roman is dead in the ground as she's dragged off by Crowley's goons, and a year of physical pain goes by. No Winchesters, no Cas, just her own screams echoing off the walls in a sickening crescendo.  
As her head is half way submerged in a tub of bleach, Meg only muses about how she was blonde the first time she ever laid unholy eyes on Sam. The memory is enough to make her laugh in her tormentor's face. They do come and find her, eventually. But as usual it's because they need something. Clarence looks stalwart, stoic, like he used to in the early days. Dean reeks of purgatory and long drunken nights, Sam looks at her with an odd pity that she wants to smack right off his face. Angel tablet, they say, lucifer's crypt. She remembers the location well, demons rarely forget. As Castiel tends to her and she hits on him, mostly just so she can laugh and enjoy a moment of peace with him, Meg has this feeling that she doesn't have long.  
She guides them to the sticking point, and "Destiel", gosh she loves fangirls, pushes forward, leaving her in a situation she hasn't encountered in years. She's alone with the moose. Her moose. He's still tall and she's still bitter but everything else feels different.  
As he scoffs at her strange new concern with the coined phrase "Shut up Meg." , she bites her lip, holding in a crashing wave of what she feels for him threatening to wash forward. She assures him she's all for team Sam, and she is. She probes his mind, learns of the woman who inspired him to leave the battle ground. Amelia, his unicorn. Meg doesn't feel jealousy, not really, just a strange sense of empty that feels different than the normal kind.  
So as she urges him to save his brother, and her unicorn, she wonders with a chuckle how no one's figured it out after so many years and averted apocalypses. They have the identity of her unicorn all wrong.  
Crowley has her in a vice, he's getting physical for once and her face is bloodied and beaten in again.  
But she laughs, pointing out to him that in that damned junker of a car, there is no angel and no tablet. She knows she won't kill him as she stabs for his shoulder, but as she locks eyes with the brothers, it doesn't matter.  
The angel blade is rammed up in to her sternum with blunt force. As her life drains, she can't help but smile, eyes on the once Boy king of hell, and all of his tortured charm.  
'You fell in love with a unicorn, it was beautiful then sad then sadder. I laughed, I cried, I puked in my mouth a little. And honestly, I kind of get it.'  
Her vessel is cold on the pavement, smile frozen on bruised lips. Meg Masters had found her home.


End file.
